Chanson d’Après-midi

Quoique tes sourcils méchants
Te donnent un air étrange
Qui n’est pas celui d’un ange,
Sorcière aux yeux alléchants,

Je t’adore, ô ma frivole,
Ma terrible passion !
Avec la dévotion
Du prêtre pour son idole.

Le désert et la forêt
Embaument tes tresses rudes,
Ta tête a les attitudes
De l’énigme et du secret.

Sur ta chair le parfum rôde
Comme autour d’un encensoir ;
Tu charmes comme le soir,
Nymphe ténébreuse et chaude.

Ah ! les philtres les plus forts
Ne valent pas ta paresse,
Et tu connais la caresse
Qui fait revivre les morts !

Tes hanches sont amoureuses
De ton dos et de tes seins,
Et tu ravis les coussins
Par tes poses langoureuses.

Quelquefois, pour apaiser
Ta rage mystérieuse,
Tu prodigues, sérieuse,
La morsure et le baiser ;

Tu me déchires, ma brune,
Avec un rire moqueur,
Et puis tu mets sur mon cœur
Ton œil doux comme la lune.

Sous tes souliers de satin,
Sous tes charmants pieds de soie,
Moi, je mets ma grande joie,
Mon génie et mon destin,

Mon âme par toi guérie,
Par toi, lumière et couleur !
Explosion de chaleur
Dans ma noire Sibérie !

Charles Baudelaire, 1860

Last Thursday I’ve been elected as president of GPUL. Since October 2008 I held that position but it happened because Emilio J. Padrón must be replaced. He went to the INRIA at Grenoble, and he needed to take a rest too: his work as president was impressive.

2009 was not a good year for GPUL. We tried to go on with our usual program of workshops and hackmeetings, making honor to our 10th anniversary, but we were forced to stop. Part of the problem were some personal (family) problems I bore this year.

So we (the new board of directors) face now the challenge of guideing GPUL to a new golden age in free software developing and promoting. In the next months we must work updating the infraestructure, then we’ll really try to keep up with the times.

As the great mass of Spanish blogosphere, I join to the “Fundamental Rights in the Internet Manifesto” against a new law project of our fascist govern that tries to block Internet web sites bypassing the courts.

1. Copyright should not be placed above citizens’ fundamental rights to privacy, security, presumption of innocence, effective judicial protection and freedom of expression.
2. Suspension of fundamental rights is and must remain an exclusive competence of judges. This blueprint, contrary to the provisions of Article 20.5 of the Spanish Constitution, places in the hands of the executive the power to keep Spanish citizens from accessing certain websites.
3. The proposed laws would create legal uncertainty across Spanish IT companies, damaging one of the few areas of development and future of our economy, hindering the creation of startups, introducing barriers to competition and slowing down its international projection.
4. The proposed laws threaten creativity and hinder cultural development. The Internet and new technologies have democratized the creation and publication of all types of content, which no longer depends on an old small industry but on multiple and different sources.
5. Authors, like all workers, are entitled to live out of their creative ideas, business models and activities linked to their creations. Trying to hold an obsolete industry with legislative changes is neither fair nor realistic. If their business model was based on controlling copies of any creation and this is not possible any more on the Internet, they should look for a new business model.
6. We believe that cultural industries need modern, effective, credible and affordable alternatives to survive. They also need to adapt to new social practices.
7. The Internet should be free and not have any interference from groups that seek to perpetuate obsolete business models and stop the free flow of human knowledge.
8. We ask the Government to guarantee net neutrality in Spain, as it will act as a framework in which a sustainable economy may develop.
9. We propose a real reform of intellectual property rights in order to ensure a society of knowledge, promote the public domain and limit abuses from copyright organizations.
10. In a democracy, laws and their amendments should only be adopted after a timely public debate and consultation with all involved parties. Legislative changes affecting fundamental rights can only be made in a Constitutional law.

Next November, 30th at my Civil Engineers School we’ll enjoy a very interesting speech of Julio Martínez Calzón [wikipedia, ES] of MC-2. He’s currently one of the best Spanish civil engineers, he has a very impressive (technical and artistic) work in structural design.

Torre Collserola (From Wikipedia.es, under GFDL License)

He worked in the 70-80’s with José Antonio Fernández Ordóñez (JAFO) building bridges, but he has a lot of works about another structural types. More than 10 years ago I was lucky of attending another speech where he talked about built-on-the-ground-and-up structures, and he showed three great examples: the Collserola Tower and the sports dome Palau San Jordi in Barcelona, and the Congress Palace in Salamanca.

Next week begins the Lugo Jazz Festival. It’s absolutely wonderful in this little town of North Spain to have the chance of listening great jazzmen like Roy Hargrove or Kenny Barron aside some interesting local bands.

Roy Hargrove is one of the best trumpeters nowadays. Some years ago I saw the live at San Sebastian with drummer Roy Haynes launching a great album: “Birds of a feather: a tribute to Charlie Parker”(2001). Recently my friend Javi Calvo lend me “RH Factor”(2003), where he performs a more funky sound.

Kenny Barron is one of my favorite pianists alive (McCoy Tyner is obviously the other one). He usually has a classic sound of accoustic jazz bands. If you hasn’t still listened his duet with Charlie Haden “Night and the city”(1998), run to your store and buy it ASAP

Le Fou et la Vénus
Quelle admirable journée! Le vaste parc se pâme sous l’oeil brûlant du soleil, comme la jeunesse sous la domination de l’Amour.
L’extase universelle des choses ne s’exprime par aucun bruit; les eaux elles-mêmes sont comme endormies. Bien différente des fêtes humaines, c’est ici une orgie silencieuse.
On dirait qu’une lumière toujours croissante fait de plus en plus étinceler les objets; que les fleurs excitées brûlent du désir de rivaliser avec l’azur du ciel par l’énergie de leurs couleurs, et que la chaleur, rendant visibles les parfums, les fait monter vers l’astre comme des fumées.
Cependant, dans cette jouissance universelle, j’ai aperçu un être affligé.
Aux pieds d’une colossale Vénus, un de ces fous artificiels, un de ces bouffons volontaires chargés de faire rire les rois quand le Remords ou l’Ennui les obsède, affublé d’un costume éclatant et ridicule, coiffé de cornes et de sonnettes, tout ramassé contre le piédestal, lève des yeux pleins de larmes vers l’immortelle Déesse.
Et ses yeux disent: – “Je suis le dernier et le plus solitaire des humains, privé d’amour et d’amitié, et bien inférieur en cela au plus imparfait des animaux.
Cependant je suis fait, moi aussi, pour comprendre et sentir l’immortelle Beauté! Ah! Déesse! ayez pitié de ma tristesse et de mon délire!”
Mais l’implacable Vénus regarde au loin je ne sais quoi avec ses yeux de marbre.

Charles Baudelaire. Le Spleen de Paris, 1869

Te quiero

Tus manos son mi caricia
mis acordes cotidianos
te quiero porque tus manos
trabajan por la justicia

si te quiero es porque sos
mi amor mi cómplice y todo
y en la calle codo a codo
somos mucho más que dos

si te quiero es porque sos
mi amor mi cómplice y todo
y en la calle codo a codo
somos mucho más que dos.

Mario Benedetti

Chant d’automne

I

Bientôt nous plongerons dans les froides ténèbres;
Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts!
J’entends déjà tomber avec des chocs funèbres
Le bois retentissant sur le pavé des cours.

Tout l’hiver va rentrer dans mon être: colère,
Haine, frissons, horreur, labeur dur et forcé,
Et, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire,
Mon coeur ne sera plus qu’un bloc rouge et glacé.

J’écoute en frémissant chaque bûche qui tombe
L’échafaud qu’on bâtit n’a pas d’écho plus sourd.
Mon esprit est pareil à la tour qui succombe
Sous les coups du bélier infatigable et lourd.

II me semble, bercé par ce choc monotone,
Qu’on cloue en grande hâte un cercueil quelque part.
Pour qui? — C’était hier l’été; voici l’automne!
Ce bruit mystérieux sonne comme un départ.

II

J’aime de vos longs yeux la lumière verdâtre,
Douce beauté, mais tout aujourd’hui m’est amer,
Et rien, ni votre amour, ni le boudoir, ni l’âtre,
Ne me vaut le soleil rayonnant sur la mer.

Et pourtant aimez-moi, tendre coeur! soyez mère,
Même pour un ingrat, même pour un méchant;
Amante ou soeur, soyez la douceur éphémère
D’un glorieux automne ou d’un soleil couchant.

Courte tâche! La tombe attend; elle est avide!
Ah! laissez-moi, mon front posé sur vos genoux,
Goûter, en regrettant l’été blanc et torride,
De l’arrière-saison le rayon jaune et doux!

Charles Baudelaire, 1859

How clear she shines! How quietly
I lie beneath her guardian light;
While heaven and earth are whispering me,
“To morrow, wake, but dream to-night.”
Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love!
These throbbing temples softly kiss;
And bend my lonely couch above,
And bring me rest, and bring me bliss.

The world is going; dark world, adieu!
Grim world, conceal thee till the day;
The heart thou canst not all subdue
Must still resist, if thou delay!

Thy love I will not, will not share;
Thy hatred only wakes a smile;
Thy griefs may wound–thy wrongs may tear,
But, oh, thy lies shall ne’er beguile!
While gazing on the stars that glow
Above me, in that stormless sea,
I long to hope that all the woe
Creation knows, is held in thee!

And this shall be my dream to-night;
I’ll think the heaven of glorious spheres
Is rolling on its course of light
In endless bliss, through endless years;
I’ll think, there’s not one world above,
Far as these straining eyes can see,
Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love,
Or Virtue crouched to Infamy;

Where, writhing ‘neath the strokes of Fate,
The mangled wretch was forced to smile;
To match his patience ‘gainst her hate,
His heart rebellious all the while.
Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong,
And helpless Reason warn in vain;
And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong;
And Joy the surest path to Pain;
And Peace, the lethargy of Grief;
And Hope, a phantom of the soul;
And life, a labour, void and brief;
And Death, the despot of the whole!

Emily Brontë. Poems By Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell, 1846

De profundis clamavi

J’implore ta pitié, Toi, l’unique que j’aime,
Du fond du gouffre obscur où mon coeur est tombé.
C’est un univers morne à l’horizon plombé,
Où nagent dans la nuit l’horreur et le blasphème;

Un soleil sans chaleur plane au-dessus six mois,
Et les six autres mois la nuit couvre la terre;
C’est un pays plus nu que la terre polaire
— Ni bêtes, ni ruisseaux, ni verdure, ni bois!

Or il n’est pas d’horreur au monde qui surpasse
La froide cruauté de ce soleil de glace
Et cette immense nuit semblable au vieux Chaos;

Je jalouse le sort des plus vils animaux
Qui peuvent se plonger dans un sommeil stupide,
Tant l’écheveau du temps lentement se dévide!

Charles Baudelaire, 1851

When we two parted

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

Lord Byron

Hagamos un trato

Cuando sientas tu herida sangrar
cuando sientas tu voz sollozar
cuenta conmigo.

(de una canción de Carlos Puebla)

Compañera,
usted sabe
que puede contar conmigo,
no hasta dos ni hasta diez
sino contar conmigo.

No ya para que acuda
presurosa en mi auxilio,
sino para saber
a ciencia cierta
que usted sabe que puede
contar conmigo.

Mario Benedetti, Poemas de otros, 1974

No quiero que te vayas
dolor, última forma
de amar. Me estoy sintiendo
vivir cuando me dueles
no en ti, ni aquí, más lejos:
en la tierra, en el año
de donde vienes tú,
en el amor con ella
y todo lo que fue.
En esa realidad
hundida que se niega
a sí misma y se empeña
en que nunca ha existido,
que sólo fue un pretexto
mío para vivir.
Si tú no me quedaras,
dolor, irrefutable,
yo me lo creería;
pero me quedas tú.
Tu verdad me asegura
que nada fue mentira.
Y mientras yo te sienta,
tú me serás, dolor,
la prueba de otra vida
en que no me dolías.
La gran prueba, a lo lejos,
de que existió, que existe,
de que me quiso, sí,
de que aún la estoy queriendo.

Pedro Salinas. La voz a ti debida, 1933

Dame tu libertad.
No quiero tu fatiga,
no, ni tus hojas secas,
tu sueño, ojos cerrados.
Ven a mí desde ti,
no desde tu cansancio
de ti. Quiero sentirla.
Tu libertad me trae,
igual que un viento universal,
un olor de maderas
remotas de tus muebles,
una bandada de visiones
que tú veías
cuando en el colmo de tu libertad
cerrabas ya los ojos.
¡Qué hermosa tú libre y en pie!
Si tú me das tu libertad me das tus años
blancos, limpios y agudos como dientes,
me das el tiempo en que tú la gozabas.
Quiero sentirla como siente el agua
del puerto, pensativa,
en las quillas inmòviles
el alta mar, la turbulencia sacra.
Sentirla,
vuelo parado,
igual que en sosegado soto
siente la rama
donde el ave se posa,
el ardor de volar, la lucha terca
contra las dimensiones en azul.
Descánsala hoy en mí: la gozaré
en un temblor de hoja en que se paran
gotas del cielo al suelo.
La quiero
para soltarla, solamente.
No tengo cárcel para ti en mi ser.
Tu libertad te aguarda para mí.
La soltaré otra vez, y por el cielo,
por el mar, por el tiempo,
veré còmo se marcha hacia su sino.
Si su sino soy yo, te está esperando.

Pedro Salinas. Razón de amor, 1936

L’Eternité

Elle est retrouvée.
Quoi ? – L’Eternité.
C’est la mer allée
Avec le soleil.

Ame sentinelle,
Murmurons l’aveu
De la nuit si nulle
Et du jour en feu.

Des humains suffrages,
Des communs élans
Là tu te dégages
Et voles selon.

Puisque de vous seules,
Braises de satin,
Le Devoir s’exhale
Sans qu’on dise : enfin.

Là pas d’espérance,
Nul orietur.
Science avec patience,
Le supplice est sûr.

Elle est retrouvée.
Quoi ? – L’Eternité.
C’est la mer allée
Avec le soleil.

Arthur Rimbaud, 1872

La nube que trae un viento,
las palabras que traen pena,
otras palabras las limpian,
otro viento se la lleva

Si unos ojos se te niegan
cuando les das tu mirada,
tú no dejes de mirarlos,
espera.
También se marcha la luz,
y aguardan las infinitas
miradas de las estrellas,
toda la noche, a que vuelva.
La luz es dicha redonda.
No se va; cuando se va,
va camino de su vuelta,
a los ojos que alumbrò.
La luz nunca estará muerta.

Si escapa de entre tus manos
esas manos que has tenido
tanto, tanto tiempo en ellas,
ajustadas a tu sueño
como el río a sus riberas,
no las cierres.
El agua es fiel a su cauce,
él solo, puede adentrarle
por sus caminos seguros
al destino que le espera.
De tierra tus manos son,
tenias abiertas
lo mismo que el cauce tiene
la otra, la suya, su tierra.
Volverán agua y amor:
a nadie deja vacías
las manos la primavera.
Si es que tu besar se encuentra
sin labios que le besaban,
no es que tu boca se esté
ya para siempre soltera.
Los pájaros tienen alas
que del árbol se los llevan.
Pero las ramas
de donde arrancò ese vuelo
saben lo que va a pasar
cuando echen las hojas nuevas.
Esos labios que no quieren
volverán a su querencia:
la boca en que se posaron
sus besos por vez primera.
No desesperes, amor,
tú tendrás lo que deseas:
si eres amor, de verdad
lo imposible siempre llega.
Felicidad. Destilada
por el tiempo en sus colmenas,
por horas que van y vienen
por el aire, o son abejas.
Aprende paciencia, amor:
el mundo es hechura alegre
de una celeste paciencia.
Ni los estrelleros saben
cuánto siglo sobre siglo
ha tardado esta belleza.

Y ahora, tan hermoso todo,
donde se posan los ojos
te espera una recompensa.
Mira:
aquí tienes a la rosa,
ayer cerrada, hoy abierta.

Pedro Salinas, 1954

I don’t want to finish August without writting about the year at Portiño. We ended course 2008-2009 activities in July, with the traditional excursion to the aquatic park in Cerceda, and the volunteers are already talking about the next course in our mailing list.

I think this year was the best we live since I began as volunteer. The team we were last year growed progressively with a very interesting group of new volunteers. In February we split the team in two so we went to work two days in a week. The parties were more fun with the new ideas that veterans and newbies contributed. And all along the course we made more trips than ever. All this work was evident in the academic results and behaviour of the children. And as I desired, in the end of the course, we weren’t volunteers that help children in risk of exclusion to progress.In fact, we were a family.

But every wonderful things in the life are not eternal and, if it’s time to enjoy the sucess, it’s time for me to be a bit sad too. Some volunteers finished their university studies, and it’s probably they won’t continue because it. Even my personal boundings can force me to leave the group. So in the next months we’ll be working in the necessary transition. Laura ‘Laby’ Pérez will be the new coordinator of the group. She is fun and sweet with the children, she has two years of experience in the project, and she has energy like a RedBull cans truck

Now I’ll pray for the spirit of these two years go on…

As you can see, I update this blog slowly. It happens because I have no much time to write long posts about really interesting things in this period. But I usually need to share little thoughts  and moments, and fast news with my friends. So I opened a microblog (in Spanish) at identi.ca, the microblogging service that uses the laconi.ca free software as engine.

I seldom use the web interface to post. To do it, I use the identi.ca emacs mode, and Gwibber (that allows me automating links compression via TinyURL). And I use the identi.ca app for Facebook to inject these microposts as current status.

I don’t know how much time I’ll keep playing with it

Today I published in GPUL’s weblog [ES] a (bit long) reflection on the past and the present, looking to the future of my loved free software group.

These moments to stop & think happen each 3-4 years, because it usually is the life cycle of one generation of activists in the group. I think we have the challenge to overcome the lack of young members. We must keep up with the times too and look for new ways adapted to the current situation: I propose to work in boosting our best programmers in the great free software projects and collaborate with another kind of volunteer associations (NGO’s, tipically).

And it is my personal challenge to overcome my personal circumstances to push GPUL in the way the members decide.

The history of the music has two parts: history before Kind of blue, and history after Kind of blue.

And it was published in August, 17th, 1959. Trane and Miles were 33 years old. Bill Evans, 30. In two impromptu performances they amazed the world.